Even the Little Things
by Mariogeek
Summary: Connie wants to stop working at Whit's End. She thinks that maybe if she jumps into a bigger, flashier job, she'll be successful like everyone else. But Jack, to her chagrin, won't accept her resignation just yet.


If the bell above the door jingled one more time, Connie was going to scream.

It wasn't the fresh wave of kids that piled through every twenty minutes. It wasn't the occasional birthday party or baseball team that stampeded through the doors.

She frowned as she scrubbed the counter with a dirty washcloth. Scrubbing was her favorite fidgety habit.

No, what was driving her up the wall this afternoon was the fact that she'd been left behind _again_.

Her friends had come in earlier- some in groups, some by themselves. All of them graduating. Moving on. Growing up. They all had something to do this summer.

But Connie? Well, she could maybe join the knitting class at the library...

"Miss Kendall?"

She squeaked and threw down the washcloth. "Eugene Meltsner, you almost scared me out of my skin!"

Eugene stood in front of the counter, peering at her through smudged glasses and clutching a stack of paper. "On the contrary," he said mildly, "that would be physically impossible-"

"Oh, stop. I didn't hear you come in, that's all."

"Ah." He suddenly grinned and excitedly waved the papers. "Is Mr. Allen here? I need to show him this!"

She jerked her thumb towards the stairs. "Up in the office. What is _that?_"

He stood straigher and spread the stack like a salesman. "_This_ is a grant to yours truly from Campbell County Community College to do scientific research over a period of four years, or until the goal is completed."

Connie picked up one of the sheets. Technical jargon blurred together with tiny font. "What kind of research?"

He smiled mysteriously. "I am not at liberty to say."

"_Eugene!_ You _know_ it's going to drive me insane!"

He chuckled, obviously pleased. "I apologize, Miss Kendall, but that was part of the terms." He scooped up the papers and clacked them against the counter. "Pardon me, I want to show Mr. Allen."

She stuck out her bottom lip. "Fine. Even though it's gonna kill me, congratulations."

He smiled wider. "Thank you!" He waved and headed upstairs.

"Pfft." She scrubbed at the counter, a little harder this time.

The bell above the door twinkled again. Warm air flooded in as Jason and Whit lingered in the doorway, talking. Whit gestured to the front page of a newspaper he held.

"Guys," Connie called, "maybe shut the door?"

They walked in, and Jason shut the door firmly behind them.

Whit strode to the counter and placed _The Odyssey Times_ in front of Connie. "What do you think?"

A picture of Whit in cargo shorts and a big hat took the lion's share of the front page. _John Whittaker- Archaeologist of the Year! Continued on page 3. _

"That's great, Whit." She flipped to the page and ran her hand over the print. Another big picture of Whit's find graced the page. Old jars, one of them open. The little scrolls peeked out. A caption underneath read: _The copies of The Four Gospels._

Jason wagged a finger. "That's not all." He slid a book across the counter to Connie. "Also, can I have a Raspberry Ripple?"

The softcover book was jet black with red lettering. She read aloud, "_Life as a Bond_. By Don Cortado and... _Jason Whittaker!?_"

He beamed. "Pretty great, huh?"

She stared at him quizically. "I didn't know you were into writing fiction."

"I didn't know either," he said, "but Don talked me into it. Can I have a Raspberry Ripple?"

"But..." she gestured to the book, "_spies_? That doesn't seem like your style, Jason."

For some reason, his smile grew nervous. "We-ell, one never knows. I thought I should tell you that Don and I are going to be gone for the summer. Book signings and all that. Can I _please_ have a Raspberry Ripple?"

Connie huffed, then stuck her tongue out. "You never taught me how to make it."

"A Loc-No-Stra-Mal, then."

She pulled a glass from the refridgerator. "That I _can_ do. Jack actually _shares_ the recipes he comes up with."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Raspberry Ripple is a Whittaker family secret-"

"I know, I know."

Connie threw strawberries, ice cream, milk, and malt powder into the blender with trained precision. She flipped it on and turned to Whit. "Don't tell me that _you're_ leaving too."

He offered a smile and tapped his fingers on the newspaper. "Well, Connie, I've already been asked by six different organizations to come speak..."

She threw her hands in the air. "I can't_believe this!_"

"I feel bad about it, Connie, trust me." His voice was neutral. As if it_wasn't _totally unfair that he was leaving.

She tuned out whatever Jason said next and poured the concoction from the blender to the glass. She swiped strawberry syrup from the fridge and poured that on top. _Voila._ A perfect Loc-No-Stra-Mal.

Eugene came down the stairs and practically skidded to a stop at the counter. "Mr. Whittaker! I have something for you to see!"

"So do I," he replied.

"And me," Jason added. He grabbed his malt off the counter and nodded to the corner booth. "Let's sit over there."

And in the blink of an eye the group was gone, and Connie was left with nothing but a few stray ice cream droplets on the counter.

For the third time that morning, she wiped down the counter like her life depended on it. She cleaned the blender. She refilled the stack of spoons next to the cash register.

Normal, mundane things.

And all the while, in the corner booth, Jason, Whit, and Eugene talked about exciting summer plans.

She blew out a breath of air. The sugary breeze of ice cream wafted around the room, thanks to the ceiling fans. The neon lights flickered a little.

Was this it? Did this room contain the pinnacle of her accomplishments in life?

Jack suddenly appeared on the stairs. He padded down them, then to the counter, staring at a clipboard in one hand. He didn't even notice the crowded corner booth. "Hi, Connie."

"Don't tell me you're leaving too."

His eyebrows raised as he finally looked up. "No... what makes you say that?"

She gestured to the corner booth.

He looked over his shoulder, then smiled sadly, shaking his head. He tapped the clipboard with a pen. "Can you work next Thursday?"

"No," the words jumped out of her mouth, "I quit."

He blinked. "You... quit?"

"Yeah." Honestly, it was a surprise to her, too.

His mouth dropped open just a little. "I'm afraid I don't understand. You... don't want to work here anymore?"

Connie's gut churned. "How many ways are there to say that I quit?"

"Well... a two week notice is the preferabled and _courteous_ way to do it." He tilted his head. "Why so sudden?"

She pointed to the corner booth. "I'm getting left behind again. Everybody's a success except me. I have to find something more important to do for the summer than just cleaning messes and making floats."

"Well, Connie," Jack said slowly, "I don't think I can accept your resignation just yet."

"You have to."

He gave her a calm smile. "I don't have to at all. Not if _I_ resign first." He pushed the clipboard towards Connie and laid the pen on top. "Goodbye."

He walked out the front door.

She didn't go after him.

What on Earth had just happened?

She shrugged and fidgeted with the washcloth. She kept an eye on the door.

Jack couldn't have been serious.

As it turned out, he wasn't. He sheepishly walked back through the door. "You _were_ _supposed_ to stop me. This is why I leave the illustrations to Whit."

The tension in her chest dispelled a little. "I knew you weren't serious."

"Oh?" He folded his hands and leaned forward. "Why is that?"

"Whit's End needs you. The kids need you."

He replied, "do they? All I do is... how'd you put it... clean messes and make floats."

Connie frowned.

"I'm no one special," he continued, "I work here for the day and then I go home and work in the garden."

"You _know_ that's baloney, Jack."

He smiled innocently. "Is it? It seems to be the same logic you're using on yourself."

She groaned and looked away. "I know where this is going. You're going to tell me that I'm successful _now,_ right?"

"At least consider what you're leaving behind. It's so easy to look at _other_ people's successes and miss _your own_. The kids love you. You touch their lives in many more ways than just serving ice cream."

A lump formed in Connie's throat.

Jack continued, "You're part of what makes Whit's End _what it is_. A place where kids can just be kids."

There it was, the final nail in the coffin. She desperately scrubbed at her eyes. "You just _had _to go straight for my feelings, didn't you?"

Jack's smile was wide. "I'm just telling it like it is."

"Ugh..." she swallowed down the lump. "You're right. I _don't _want to leave Whit's End."

"I didn't think so." His eyes twinkled.

"Thanks, Jack."

"Anytime." Jack picked up the clipboard and clicked on his pen. "Now, can you work on Thursday?"

Connie pursed her lips. "No, I'm going to a friend's Bible study."

"Agh. I guess I'll come in, then. My garden can wait." He marked it off on the paper.

A yell suddenly erupted from the corner booth.

Even from across the room, Connie could see the red Loc-No-Stra-Mal dripping from the edge of the table onto Jason's pants.

Jason howled, "Connie! Help?"

Jack chuckled. "The little things are still important."

"In other words, 'Clean that up, Connie.'" She smiled. "I'd be happy to."


End file.
